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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28871367">With Dawn Comes Mourning</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueygluey_eyes/pseuds/blueygluey_eyes'>blueygluey_eyes</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/cizza_the_author/pseuds/cizza_the_author'>cizza_the_author</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Sleepy Bois Inc, Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, Canon Divergence, Dadza, Dialogue Heavy, Five Stages of Grief, Fox Hybrid Floris | Fundy, Ghost Wilbur Soot, Ghostbur, Hurt Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Hybrid Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Hybrid Toby Smith | Tubbo, My own headcanons, Not Canon Compliant, Older Sibling Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Panic Attacks If You Squint, Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Phil Watson Angst (Video Blogging RPF), Phil Watson Hears Voices, Sleepy Bois Inc Angst, Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, Tags May Change, Technoblade Hears Voices (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit Hears Voices (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade are Twins, Wilbur Soot is Floris | Fundy's Parent, Wilbur dies in the first page im sorry, Winged Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), wilbur soot dies</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 06:42:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,963</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28871367</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueygluey_eyes/pseuds/blueygluey_eyes, https://archiveofourown.org/users/cizza_the_author/pseuds/cizza_the_author</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil drops his hand from the Tommy’s cheek to his shoulder, gripping it until his knuckles turn white. He shakes his head, biting back another sob, “No- he-“ Phil tries to take a deep breath, “He asked me to- to kill him.”</p>
<p>          The brothers stiffen. The calm before the storm as they both take in the information, a new meaning to the blood stained on Phil’s green shirt.</p>
<p>         “And you- and you killed him?” Tommy’s yell is directly in Phil’s ear, making him flinch not only from the meaning but the sound too. “You killed him because he asked you to?” </p>
<p>         Phil rapidly shakes his head, not meeting Tommy’s eyes, “I didn’t- I didn’t want to,” his voice cracks.</p>
<p>        “But you did.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>------------------------------------</p>
<p>Time heals all but pushing through the minutes is painful.</p>
<p>Mainly Phil-centric, follows as he learns to accept what he's done and can heal from the wound in his heart.</p>
<p>Also! This roughly follows the events of the DreamSMP, but with a bit more flavor (them actually acting like family) and some of my own headcanons.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>No Romantic Relationship(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>108</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Red Steel</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I hope you enjoy or cry, I'll take either.</p>
<p> <br/>Cizza came up with this chapter's title, thank you Cizza!!<br/> </p>
<p>--</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h1>Red Steel</h1>
<p>After Wilbur’s worst moments, in the cave that’s now being exposed to sunlight for the first time, the fog is finally lifted from his head. He's cradled in familiar arms, arms that bring him back to a simpler time, where it was only the five of them, happy. There’s a ringing in his ears and his side feels like he fell from a second story building, but Wilbur unsteadily pulls himself to his feet and looks out at the damage, at the people screaming. "Phil," There's a tremble in his voice that's quickly steeled with a solemn resolve, "Phil, kill me."</p><p>"<em>What?<em>" </em></em>The other man gasps, eyes wide in horror.</p><p>"Phil, you need to kill me," fierce eyes turn to him, meeting shocked blue ones. Wilbur pulls out his sword, barely a scratch on it from the little use it got, and tosses it over Phil who catches it easily by reflex. "It's what the people want," his voice is quiet now, "I need to die-"</p><p>"No-" Phil makes a desperate attempt to stop this train of thought, stop the offending words.</p><p>"<em>Killza!</em>" Phil tenses at the nickname, used to hearing it from the lips of his enemies as he rampages, the dam in his mind broken and the voices calling out in blood lust. But now the name is from his son, one of the reasons the dam was built in the first place.</p><p>“You need to kill me, Phil!" Wilbur roars at him, striding closer while never breaking eye contact. He can see the tears welling in Phil's eyes, turning them to glass. "Killza!"</p><p>"You're-" Phil tries to step away from the man in front of him but a quick and slender hand catches his wrist, keeping him in place as Wilbur comes closer still, "You're my <em>son</em>!" It's a cry, a plea, <em>an attempt</em> to call on the humanity left.</p><p>Wilbur looks up at him with sad eyes and a matching smile, "Am I?"</p><p>Those two words rip the breath from Phil and, in his stunned state, does nothing to stop the hand on his wrist, the wrist with the sword, from yanking the weapon forward and through flesh. Wilbur gasps and sinks down, his abdomen resting on the hilt and leaning against Phil, whose tears now run freely down his face as he looks into the eyes of his son.</p><p>"<em>No</em>. No, no, no," The words are tumbling through his lips and he releases the sword from his grip to wrap his arms around Wilbur, his baby now all grown up, never to grow any older.</p><p>His hands clench Wilbur’s jacket as they both sink to the ground, Phil’s shoulders shaking as the other’s become stiff. He lets himself cry into his son’s shoulder, like Wilbur had done with him all those years ago.</p><p>Once the tears refuse to keep running he takes a trembling breath and pulls himself back enough so he can pull out the sword. The weapon slides out easily, slick with blood. It clatters to the side as Phil lays Wilbur’s body on his back and gently closes his eyes, the warmth no longer in the deep pools of brown. Of course, the warmth hadn’t been there for quite some time.</p><p>He sits there, and takes in the sight, letting reality hit him once again. “I’m sorry, son,” it’s barely a whisper, but the words still greet the air. Phil rises shakily and picks his way out of the cave, leaving the body behind to be dealt with later. It wasn’t like it was a person anymore.</p><p>He makes his way around the new cavern, seeing water rush down stone, stained dark with blood. Phil can make out cries, shouting, but it sounds distant and warbled, as if he’s underwater. He looks up and sees people, running and clashing. In the confusion of bodies, pink hair stands out against the rest. Long pink hair braided behind the man’s back swinging as he lashes out against multiple foes. The man defeats each in turn, chest heaving when he finally takes notice of Phil.</p><p>“Phil?” There’s an incredulous undertone in his voice, “What are you doing here?” It strikes Phil, now that he can see Technoblade’s face fully, how similar he and Wilbur look. The same nose, the same cheekbones and brows, but Techno’s eyes flicker red in the heat of battle. The similarities, usually making Phil smile, now cuts deep, causing another emotion to bubble to the surface again.</p><p>“I- Techno-“ Phil can’t seem to get words out, grasping at the air.</p><p>Before Phil can have the time to properly articulate himself, there’s a yell, “You’ll pay for that, Techno!”</p><p>Techno whips around to face the direction of the battle cry, raising his sword just in time to block an axe, making sparks fly. “I told you already, Tommy,” he grunts, “I’m winnin’ this, you know I’m better than you.”</p><p>At that moment, Phil’s knees decide to give out, the image in front of him too much for him to bear. His two remaining sons, his oldest and youngest, at each other’s throats. Over what? Some country? Is that what it took to rip a family apart?</p><p>The two boys continue the fight, lashing out and countering, cussing and yelling as if they had never played hide and seek in the woods together, as if Techno hadn’t taught Tommy half of his combat skills, as if they never sang with Wilbur together around a campfire.</p><p>The scene causes another onslaught of tears, and he falls forward to clutch the grass. “Stop! Stop it, the both you!” The words were barely made out against the explosions and the wail in his voice.</p><p>At hearing the cry Tommy’s head snaps to the man on the ground, lowering his axe a fraction, “Wh-What? Phil?” He sounds astonished, he didn’t expect his father to be anywhere near the battle. Phil had his own things to do, and his boys had long moved out. “What are y-“ Tommy’s cut off as his axe is knocked out of his hands by Techno, “Hey!” His face steels as he turns to his brother.</p><p>“Don’t get distracted, Tommy,” Techno’s voice is monotone and his red eyes stare down into Tommy’s angry ones.</p><p>“That’s our dad, you mother fu-“</p><p>“Tommy!” Phil weakly exclaims, drawing the attention of the two others, he glances up and from the way Techno and Tommy’s faces contort, he knows they can see the hurt on his face and the sorry state his wings are in, “What are guys doing?”</p><p>“He tried to destroy L’Manberg after we won the war!” Tommy pointed an accusatory finger, acid dripping from his words.</p><p>“You used me, Tommy! You made a government even though I clearly said I was against it. History’s gonna repeat itself, Tommy-“</p><p>“Oh what a load of-“</p><p>“Boys!” Phil pushes himself from the ground to walk closer, and can see their eyes widen as they notice the blood on his clothes. Feathers float to litter the ground as he stands, and Phil notices the way Techno’s eyes follow their route.</p><p>“Phil,” Tommy’s voice is quiet as if he was calling out to a dark room, scared that somebody would answer.</p><p>“Do you have to settle this by fighting?”</p><p>Techno snorts and turns away, “A bit ironic comin’ from you.”</p><p>Phil was well aware of his nicknames, Killza and the Angel of Death, both well earned and appropriate, but he was not in the mood for that part of his life to touch his family for the second time today. Phil’s voice is sharp as he issues the warning, “<em>Techno.</em>”</p><p>The man bristles, and Phil can see the smugness on Tommy’s features.</p><p>“Tommy,” he looks into the youngest’s blue eyes, the same eyes as his own but filled with youthful naivety, “You’re not even 17, what are you doing fighting a <em>war</em>?” He steps closer, knees weak. Phil isn’t sure how he’s keeping himself together enough to reprimand his kids, maybe he’s had practice hiding his pain and worry from those he had to be strong for. Flashes of lonely nights and financial struggles surfaces to his mind before dissipating into the present’s realities.</p><p>It’s Tommy’s turn to look uncomfortable, “Well, I was- I was with Wilbur, you know,” his voice trails off only to come back in the following silence, “And we were fighting— fighting for L’Manberg, a place where we could be safe. And,” He shrugs and, not meeting Phil’s eyes, mutters, “And I’m not a child anymore, Phil.”</p><p>Phil has to bite his tongue at the last line to stop a cry, because Tommy is still a child, and children shouldn’t have to fight in wars. “Tommy,” Phil’s voice is soft and shaky, his arm is reaching out to Tommy’s bloody cheek.</p><p>The teen doesn’t stop Phil’s hand but doesn’t look grateful for it either.</p><p>“Where’s Wilbur, anyway?” Techno’s gruff voice comes from the side, “He disappeared after he declared Tubbo president.”</p><p>Phil eyes snap to Techno, not breathing. Techno’s looking at him warily, the crimson slowly draining from his eyes and his breathing now steady.</p><p>“He’s-“ Phil chokes, and a sob wracks through his body.</p><p>“Phil?” Tommy puts a hand on his dad’s shoulder, eyes studying him.</p><p>“He’s uh-“ the hushed words manage to free themselves, “He’s dead.”</p><p>“Wha-What?” Tommy’s voice trembles, “How? When?” He looks down at the blood on Phil’s clothes again, tears forming.</p><p>“<em>Dead</em>? He missed the whole fight and he’s dead?” Techno’s voice is sharp and he stands there for a moment before hesitantly walking over towards Phil and Tommy. “Phil,” His voice solemn, “What happened?”</p><p>“Did he blow himself up with the rest of L’Manberg?” The whisper comes from Tommy, his bottom lip quivering.</p><p>Phil drops his hand from the youngest’s cheek to his shoulder, gripping it until his knuckles turn white. He shakes his head, biting back another sob, “No- he-“ Phil tries to take a deep breath, “He asked me to- to kill him.”</p><p>The brothers stiffen. The calm before the storm as they both take in the information, a new meaning to the blood stained on Phil’s green shirt.</p><p>“And you- and you <em>killed</em> him?” Tommy’s yell is directly in Phil’s ear, making him flinch not only from the meaning but the sound too. “You killed him because he asked you to?”</p><p>Phil rapidly shakes his head, not meeting Tommy’s eyes, “I didn’t- I didn’t want to,” his voice cracks.</p><p>“But you did.”</p><p>Phil isn’t sure if there’s actually judgment in Techno’s voice but his mind puts it there regardless. It was <em>his</em> fault his son was dead.</p><p>He lets go of Tommy’s shirt and collapses for the second time, shoulders shaking and his dark wings curling around him. The two boys watch the man who raised them, so strong for them back then but now broken.</p><p>Technoblade crouches down by Phil and places a hand on his shoulder. Phil looks up and, through his warped vision, he can make the glint of tears welled in his eyes. Phil knew his son, knew that while he tried his best to cover his emotions he would break down in the quiet of his house. Techno would grieve for his twin only when no one could see his weakness.</p><p>“Tommy!” A far away call reminds the three that there’s still a fight going on, the people of L’Manberg against the monsters Techno had conjured in an attempt to wipe out the government.</p><p>Though all of them hear it, no one reacts. All Tommy can do is stare down at his father, and wonder if he actually cared for Tommy. If Tommy asked Phil to kill him, would he do it?</p><p>“Tommy!” The voice calls again, closer this time, and Phil recognizes it as Tubbo, his adopted son.</p><p>“What’s- what’s happened?” Tubbo gazes at them, and his brows furrow. What could’ve happened to make Technoblade and Tommy stop fighting? “Phil?” He can’t see Phil’s face but can see the shudder of his shoulders and wings.</p><p>Without taking his eyes off Phil, Tommy grinds out, “Wilbur’s dead. And Phil killed him.”</p><p>Phil can hear something clatter on the ground and the hitch in Tubbo’s breath. He had idolized Phil for most of his childhood, looking up to the man who found him, dirty and alone on the side of the road, and took Tubbo home with him even though he already had three kids of his own. He could hear that crumble. “He- he what?”</p><p>There’s a moment where no one speaks, trying to process the situation. The only sounds are the people still fighting, and the rushing water that continues to flow into the large chasm.</p><p>The silence is broken when Tubbo mumbles a disbelieving, “Phil, did you really?”</p><p>Phil finally turns to look at the boy, and sees his jaw drop a little at how broken the older man appears. “I-“ he sniffles, “Yes.”</p><p>“Surely not,” but there’s no conviction behind the words.</p><p>Techno’s hand snakes around Phil’s shoulders, “Phil,” Phil can hear how strained his son’s voice is, how hard he’s trying to keep it together. “Phil, we need to go.” While the people of L’Manberg and Pogtopia had known of Wilbur’s mental instability, the news of his death would bring anger and sorrow alike.</p><p>Phil wipes at his tear-stained cheeks, “Wil-” he stops, the name is almost too painful to say, “His body is over there,” he points an unsteady finger to a small cave, the only difference from the larger one is that the walls are covered with writings, tales of Wilbur’s declining sanity. “He needs- he needs to be buried.”</p><p>Techno nods and tries to help Phil stand up, letting the man lean on him. The movement is a little awkward, as he has to move around Phil’s dark wings. The siblings shared a knowing look.</p><p>“And- and-“ Phil can’t stop, “What about Fundy? What will we tell him?”</p><p>At that, everyone looked at each other. In the moment, they had forgotten about Wilbur’s son, off fighting against Techno’s monsters.</p><p>“I’ll-“ Tubbo clears his throat, “I’ll handle that.”</p><p>Tommy shoots a steely look at his adopted brother, his jaw clenching and relaxing, working out nervous energy.</p><p>Phil nods weakly and lets Techno half carry him away, around the fresh hole in the earth and towards his base.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. We All Lift Together</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Tubbo lays a hand softly on Tommy’s shoulder and whispers, “You should go home.”</p><p>    Tommy sniffles in response, he picks his head up and wipes at his eyes in an attempt to rub away the tears. When he speaks, it’s a croak, “I can’t leave him.”</p><p>    “Tommy,” Tubbo’s voice is delicate, “Tommy, look at me.”</p><p>     Two pairs of damaged blue eyes meet.</p><p>     “Tommy, he’s gone,” it’s a whisper, a hushed breeze through the trees that’s careful to not break the fragile moment.</p><p>------------------</p><p>Tommy and Tubbo time featuring Niki and Fundy!!</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is really really dialogue heavy, and its the only chapter that doesnt have phil in it. </p><p>Adult language warning i guess because Tommy's here</p><p>Thank you Cizza with helping with this chapter!!</p><p> </p><p>as always, enjoy or cry :))</p><p> </p><p>--</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <h1>We All Lift Together</h1>
  
</div><p>Tommy watches the two go, his lips twisted in a grimace, “Tubbo?” His voice is flat.</p><p>“Yeah?” Tubbo’s is soft and distant, making Tommy wonder about what is going through his head. He can see from the corner of his vision that Tubbo is absentmindedly thumbing over one of his horns.</p><p>“You don’t forgive Phil, do you?”</p><p>Tubbo turns to face Tommy and he pulls his hand away from his head, confusion on his features, “What?”</p><p>“He killed Wilbur, Tubbo!” Tommy scowls and gazes down into the crater that was once his home, “I don’t forgive him.”</p><p>Tubbo takes that in silence before looking towards the cave Phil had pointed out earlier, “We should bury Wilbur’s body.” He stands and goes to pick up the item he had dropped in shock, his crossbow, a new scratch across the wood and metal. He fiddles with the mechanism before slinging it over his shoulder.</p><p>Tommy makes a noise in agreement and the two head to the site, carefully trying to avoid falling to their death.</p><p>At the mouth, the boys stop and gape at the sight. Wilbur’s body is lying on the floor in a pool of dark red liquid, his sword, covered in dried blood, is next to him. The walls have song lyrics scratched into them, and they recognize L’Manberg’s national anthem along with the names of residents. They spot their own names on the wall, next to “Niki” and “Where men could go emancipate”. The crude room smells of earth and iron, and something a little more rotten. In the corner, dirtied and forgotten, lies Phil’s green striped bucket hat.</p><p>Tubbo swallows thickly and walks over to Wilbur’s body, kneeling down to rest a hand around the arm. “Goodbye, Wilbur,” he doesn’t bother wiping away the tears that are now splattering onto his armor.</p><p>“I didn’t even know he was on his last life,” Tommy’s voice cracks in the middle of the sentence but Tubbo doesn’t snicker like he usually would. He comes to join the shorter boy by their older brother, “I can’t believe Phil killed him-- oh god, with his own sword too.”</p><p>Tubbo glances up and catches a wave of nausea wash over Tommy’s face, “Come on,” he tugs on Tommy’s sleeve, trying to pull him out of his spiral, “Help me carry him,” Tubbo wraps his arms under Wilbur’s arms and around his chest, he can feel blood, still slightly warm, soak into his skin.</p><p>Tommy stumbles over to Wilbur’s long legs, taking one in each hand and hoisting him up, making his best attempt to look anywhere but the body in front of him. “Where-” he clears his throat trying to chase away the unsteady tremor, “Where are we taking him?”</p><p>Tubbo tries to shrug but his shoulders are weighted down with Wilbur’s torso, “I don’t know, outside of this hole I guess.”</p><p>Amazingly, they managed to carry Wilbur’s body to the intact shore of the lake, becoming shallower by the minute. Tommy stares down at the body, its eyes are still closed but everything else about it seems messy and unrestful.</p><p>Tubbo watches from where he’s standing as Tommy shifts Wilbur’s legs together and rests his hands on his bloody chest. He kneels down and smooths out Wilbur’s hair, the curly strands laying tame across his face. He steps back with an unsatisfied look.</p><p>“Sit him up, Tubbo.”</p><p>“What?” Despite his confusion, Tubbo hooks his arms under Wilbur’s armpits and pulls him so the body is in a sitting position. Tommy gently slides Wilbur’s arms through his coat sleeves and tugs it from underneath Wilbur so it comes free.</p><p>“Lay him back down, now.”</p><p>Tubbo follows the instructions, respectfully settling Wilbur’s hands on his chest again, before sitting a few feet away. Tommy shakes out the coat before laying it over Wilbur’s body, obscuring his head and torso. Tommy then comes to sit by Tubbo and he silently wraps an arm around the blond’s shoulders as they start to shake. The sounds of explosions are being replaced with bittersweet cheers in the distance, the only indicator that the beasts have been defeated and the people of L’Manberg have won a small victory.</p><p> </p><p>The two sit like that for a few moments, basking in what comfort they can offer each other.</p><p>Two figures approach the boys, Niki and Fundy, smiles on their faces with new scars decorating their bodies. They’re chatting amicably, and Tubbo begins to make out their words the closer they get, “...and that room he had was amazing! How long do you think he spent getting all that stuff?”</p><p>“Probably forever,” Fundy’s smile sours, “And then he turned on us.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Niki dejectedly agrees, eyes drifting from the fox hybrid’s to Tubbo’s, her smile renewed before taking in the mood, “What’s wrong, Tubbo?”</p><p>Tubbo grimaces before responding, sparing a glance at Tommy who still has his head in his arms, “Wilbur...” he trails off, not sure how to break the news.</p><p>“What about him?” Fundy perks up and looks at Wilbur’s body, nudging it with his foot, “Looks like he passed out,” Fundy studies his father’s figure for a moment longer, “Wait-” He stares at the blood-soaked brown fabric, the tear in the back, and in one swift motion rips the coat off.</p><p>Niki gasps at the sight. Wilbur’s skin is a ghostly gray, almost translucent, blue collecting around his bowed lips and deep eye sockets. Blood stains his shirt, turning it shades of dark red and brown, and his fingers rest upon the source.</p><p>“He’s dead,” Tommy’s muffled and hoarse voice breaks through, stating the obvious.</p><p>Fundy kneels beside Wilbur, the color draining from his face, “Wilbur?” A bitter laugh escapes his lips, “I don’t believe this. Don’t leave me like this, Wilbur!” He grips his dad’s limp wrists tightly, smearing blood on his own hands. There’s still warmth in them, ghosting the hope that he was still alive, but his tight grip tells him the truth, there was no steady beating of a pulse in these wrists.</p><p>“Fundy,” Niki calls softly, her hand coming to rest lightly on his shoulder.</p><p>He flinches at the touch and abruptly stands, releasing his hold on Wilbur and making Niki stumble back. The brown in his eyes, the brown he inherited from his father, solidifies to earth and he haphazardly drops the coat. It flutters down to partially cover the corpse in front of him.</p><p>Tubbo hears a murmured, “Shut up, shut up, <em>shut up<em>,” </em></em>come from Tommy and while he doesn’t say anything, he gives the boy a concerned look. Everyone else ignores him.</p><p>“He’s dead.” Fundy’s speech is clipped, “He had it coming from how he was.”</p><p>“You don’t mean that, Fundy,” Niki bends down to fix the coat, tucking it under the body so it doesn’t get blown away.</p><p>“I do.” Fundy turns to Tubbo, his face hardened and tail swishing agitatedly behind him, “What’s next, Mr. President?”</p><p>“What the fuck,” Tommy finally lifts his head to glare at the fox hybrid, his face painted a splotchy pink and red, “How can you just- just <em>move on</em> like that? He’s fucking dead!”</p><p>Tubbo, who had been watching idly, not sure what to say to comfort them, gapes up at the fox hybrid.</p><p>“Yeah, he’s dead. And there’s nothing we can do about that.” Steel reinforces Fundy’s words.</p><p>“Uh-“ Tubbo spares a glance down at the body- “I don’t- I don’t know. It’s a bit early to-“ he stumbles through his words, “I think we need time. Time to mourn and- and recuperate before making big decisions.” He meets Fundy’s eyes and has to resist looking away from their intensity, “I think you should understand that, Fundy.”</p><p>“Yeah, what Tubbo said,” Tommy mutters into his arms.</p><p>Fundy crosses his arms and looks away, annoyance creeping onto his features, “We need a plan, Tubbo. Our country just got fucking destroyed, and you want to sit here and cry.” He looks back down at Tubbo, scratching at a fresh cut on his arm, “Unbelievable.”</p><p>Tubbo’s eyes widen at the man. He looks at Tommy, who’s still balled up being uncharacteristically quiet, and Niki, who had settled herself by Wilbur, her hair acting as a curtain to cover her face. Despite the curtain, he can see the way her shoulders shake. He finally stares back at Fundy with a frown, “Yes, I do. And I’m wondering why you don’t,” he pushes himself up onto his feet and gestures to Wilbur, “He was your father!”</p><p>“He <em>abandoned</em> me-” Fundy hisses, his ears sliding back as he points a clawed finger at the corpse.</p><p>“He was still your dad!”</p><p>“So? He didn’t act like one!” a shout tears itself from Fundy’s lips and he bites his tongue not to go on a rant. Tubbo studies him as he inhales shakily, brows furrowed, “I will not spend time mourning him when more important things need to be taken care of.”</p><p>“‘More important things’,” Niki’s soft yet bitter tone cuts into the conversation, “Fundy, what do you mean more important things? What could be more important than mourning Wilbur?” She doesn’t look up, choosing to spend her energy into keeping her voice level.</p><p>“L’Manberg, Niki! I don’t know if you’ve noticed but it's just a little blown up,” He gestures to the pit not thirty feet away, “Isn’t this how it’s always been? The country over a person, Wilbur certainly thought so.”</p><p>Tubbo pushes himself up from the ground, “Well, Fundy, I’m the president and I think we should take some time to recollect ourselves. It’s not like L’Manberg is going anywhere.”</p><p>The other man blanches, “Tubbo--”</p><p>“Fundy,” the younger’s tone leaves no room for argument as he pins Fundy to the spot.</p><p>The fox hybrid holds the stare before looking away with a sour face, “Whatever,” he shoots the body one last withering glance before storming off, tail swishing angrily behind him.</p><p>Tubbo’s shoulders sag and he gives a small sigh, watching Fundy go.</p><p>“He’s wrong you know,” Niki raises her head to gaze at Tubbo, tear tracks down her cheeks.</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>She gives him a curt nod and rises, giving Tommy a sad look before turning away in the direction of Puffy’s house. She leaves Tubbo and Tommy to be alone with the body once again.</p><p>He lays a hand softly on Tommy’s shoulder and whispers, “You should go home.”<br/>
Tommy sniffles in response, he picks his head up and wipes at his eyes in an attempt to rub away the tears. When he speaks, it’s a croak, “I can’t leave him.”</p><p>“Tommy,” Tubbo’s voice is delicate, “Tommy, look at me.”</p><p>Two pairs of damaged blue eyes meet.</p><p>“Tommy, he’s gone,” it’s a whisper, a hushed breeze through the trees that’s careful to not break the fragile moment. When Tommy doesn’t move, Tubbo moves his grip to the other’s arm and attempts to pull him up. “You can’t just sit here, you know.”</p><p>“Yes, I can.”</p><p>“No, you can’t.”</p><p>Tubbo makes another attempt to pull the lanky boy to his feet, succeeding when he is met with no resistance. Tommy sways uneasily, and Tubbo has to keep a tight grip on his arm to keep him from falling down. They slowly make their way down the Prime Path to Tommy’s house that’s nestled in the hill. Tommy’s feet drag against the wood, making Tubbo’s task difficult, but he doesn’t say anything.</p><p>He pushes open the oak doors and guides Tommy to his bed. He almost doesn’t catch the ghost of a whisper from Tommy’s lips.</p><p>“Thank you.”</p><p>Tubbo manages to smile at him, but it takes an effort. Seeing the boy who was usually so fiery, so lively, now reduced to a husk, it nearly breaks his resolve.</p><p>“You’re welcome,” Tubbo thinks about what he was going to do now, he was president and in charge of things. He does intend to follow through with his plan of giving people a moment to catch their breath before getting into reconstruction. But he has to deal with Wilbur, with Schlatt’s funeral. He had so much to do, and not the slightest idea on how to start. That’s what the breathing period is for, he supposes. The rushing thoughts like weights in his mind, making it ache. “Will you be okay on your own for a while?”</p><p>“You’re leaving?”</p><p>The way Tommy’s eyes widen and the crack in his voice makes what was left of Tubbo’s wall crumble, and he sits himself on the bed next to him with fresh tears welling in his eyes. The body isn’t going anywhere, neither is L’Manberg. He can have this moment, “No. I’m not leaving.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>oh boy!! oh boy!! niki and fundy!!  ngl i really enjoy writing fundy hes a fun personality. </p><p> still clumsy with the HTML and it wont emphasize things like "he *abandoned* me--" smh (edit: fixed it)</p><p>at this point this chapter, towards the beginning and end at least, is like clingy duo fanservice but make it sad. </p><p>The chapter title is the name of a song, We All Lift Together by Keith Power, and i thought it was a FOLK song but NO its from the video game Warframe?? That messed me up, I  had only heard covers before the original, i never imagined it was about a dystopian colony of debtors?</p><p>edit: not sure if this is true but i heard on the internet (such a reliable source) that Phil canonically lost his wings protecting Wilbur. This isn't canon in this story, largely because I didn't know and still don't know if this is true, but lemme just say yall have been spared that angst. There's so much angst maybe it doesnt need it but my writing is made to make people cry. </p><p>i hope you enjoyed.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Scabbing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A night's rest solidifies history and brings confrontation.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>enjoy or cry :)</p>
<p> </p>
<p>thank you Cizza!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h1>Scabbing</h1>
<p>“Techno,” Phil breaks the silence that had stretched between his son and him since leaving L’Manberg, “Do you blame me?”</p>
<p>Techno shifts his eyes to the older man’s and sighs. His eyes are slightly pink and the bags beneath them stand out, “Wilbur wasn’t in his right mind, but I’m havin’ a hard time acceptin’ that you did what you did.”</p>
<p>Phil was no longer being supported, the walk calming him down to the point where he could stand on his own. He nods, “I didn’t want to, Techno, you have to know that.” Phil can see Techno’s jaw tense, one of the many scars rippling.</p>
<p>The other man murmurs something that sounds like agreement.</p>
<p>“He just-” his hands gesture vaguely- “He took my arm and pulled the sword and--” he cuts himself off with a sigh. “I don’t want to believe it, Techno, but I was there,” he mumbles as he carries on, “If only I hadn’t been there.”</p>
<p>Instead of responding, Technoblade skillfully makes his way down the hill they had been climbing and wades into the lake below. In the shallows, Phil can see a hatch door. It’s nothing special, more practical than anything, it’s a dull brown with the metallic screws shimmering every once and a while when they catch the sun. Reaching through the water, he hefts the hatch open and watches as water rushes in with tired eyes.</p>
<p>“You can stay here for the night if you’d like,” He lifts his head back up to Phil.</p>
<p>“Thanks, Techno,” Phil stretches out his wings, wincing at the slight pain from where he had used them to shield himself and Wilbur from the blast. He folds them close to his body, not wanting to get caught on the edge of the door before dropping down and landing on wet tile. A splash resounds next to him as Techno follows suit.</p>
<p>They’re standing in a small room, the floor dotted with drains and the door a few feet away. Techno pulls it open, wiping his boots on the rug just outside, and Phil follows him into the main part of the house. It’s dark, the walls and floor made of blackstone and obsidian that consume the light emitting from the torches on the walls. Before them is a room filled with chests, most are partially open with items spilling out. There were emeralds on the floor and a crushed skull of dark bone, along with arrows strewn about haphazardly.</p>
<p>“What happened here?” The question is a distraction, anything to get away from the whirlpool of pain in his head. Phil knows that Techno is not the most organized person on Earth from years of insisting for him to clean his room, but he was nowhere near <em>this</em> messy.</p>
<p>The other man lets out a groan, “I let them use the resources I had prepared,” he brings a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, “And none of them had the common decency to be at least somewhat respectful.” He sighs and beckons Phil to follow him down the hallway to the right, “I’ll show you to the guest room.”</p>
<p>The hallway is littered with trampled sugar cane stalks making the ground sticky with their sap, but Phil doesn’t try to avoid stepping on them. There’s a fog in the back of his mind that’s steadily growing, enveloping his senses and thoughts. He’s barely aware that Techno has stopped in front of a door and is swinging it open to reveal a small, simple bedroom. Phil mumbles a quick good night before passing by the taller man and crashing onto the bed, not caring about staining the sheets. He had wanted to talk about today, clear the air and try to unload the weight on his chest, but the heartache and grief are like weights on his eyelids and the fog is curling tight tendrils around his brain.</p>
<p>Phil doesn’t notice the way Techno stands at the doorway, distant eyes gazing upon him that swirl with the fight of a breaking dam. The dam breaks, and Technoblade shatters.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>-----</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Phil sleeps surprisingly well, but then again, emotional turmoil leaves a heavy burden on the body. He wakes to the soft blue hue of the soul lantern on the nightstand, the dark walls chewing at the light and leaving him in peaceful gloom. In this moment of serenity he can almost forget yesterday and pretend that Wilbur is off in Pogtopia, bickering with Tommy about the decor of their hideout.</p>
<p>But one can’t hide from the truth forever, and the memories come crashing back.</p>
<p>
  <em>“Killza!” </em>
</p>
<p>The desperate, twisted smile on his son’s face.</p>
<p>
  <em>“You need to kill me, Phil.” </em>
</p>
<p>His wild eyes appearing weary as if he had fought against something for too long.</p>
<p>
  <em>“You’re my son!”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>"Am I?” </em>
</p>
<p>Phil screws his eyes shut and shoves his face into the pillow, the thick material making it difficult to breathe. Maybe if he just holds his breath for just long enough, maybe if he welcomes the burn in his lungs for this moment and let the darkness reclaim him he’ll have peace for a little while longer.</p>
<p>The survival instincts of Phil’s brain kicks in, making him push up onto his forearms and gasp in a breath of musty air. He lays like that, head tucked down between his shoulders, his chest held just high enough to allow his lungs to expand, and a leg partially hanging off the edge of the bed as he huffs to regain the steady consistency. He settles back down, wrapping his arms around the pillow and turns his focus to the polished blackstone wall. All the chips and sprinkles of gray, silver, and black, blending together to create fuzzy static.</p>
<p>He knows he should get up, go check on Techno and have a discussion about yesterday. Phil knows this, but his limbs feel like lead and he can’t seem to find the energy to make them move. The only thing Phil is acutely aware of at the moment is the dull ache in his back from sleeping on his stomach for so many years, but even that seems dampened.</p>
<p>A creak resounds, “Phil,” Techno’s voice is hoarse as he calls out. He steps closer to shake Phil’s shoulder lightly, “Come on, Phil, wa-- oh, you’re up already.”</p>
<p>Phil sits up and the action itself is a battle, “Yeah, I’m up,” He gazes up and sees the puffy pink lining Techno’s eyes and the dark circles resting beneath. He had cracked in the solitude of his room.</p>
<p>Techno hesitantly sits down next him, making the mattress dip under his weight. He clasps his hands together and opens his mouth like he wants to say something, but closes it. Phil isn’t sure what to say either. What can he say? How does he start this conversation? The tension is so thick it’s as though they’re encased in gelatin, suffocating them and snuffing out words.</p>
<p>The weight of Techno’s body is abruptly gone as he stands and heads to the door, “How about we talk over some breakfast?” He glances over his shoulder at Phil.</p>
<p>Phil nods and stands to stretch out his arms and wings before following his son down the long corridors to a small kitchen area. It matches the rest of the base with black walls and low light, making the birch cabinets and table stand out. He goes and sets himself in a chair at the table and watches as Techno pulls out a cast iron skillet and some eggs, beginning to make their breakfast. Phil can’t help the twinge of pride and loss as he observes his eldest, remembering when their positions were switched. Along with that brings memories of Wilbur, it was hard to think of one and not the other, especially in the early days when they never strayed too far from each other.</p>
<p>He’s snapped back to the present when a plate of eggs and sausages is set in front of him, and Techno takes the seat across from him with his own plate. “Thank you.”</p>
<p>Techno nods, taking a bite of some eggs.</p>
<p>“So yesterday,” Phil uses his fork to prod at his eggs, wanting to get the load off his chest, “I uh, I came for a visit-- you know, to see you guys and your country, I heard it hadn’t- hadn’t been doin’ too well-- and um,” he gestures vaguely with his free hand, “you guys were fighting and someone said to go get Wilbur, to find him. And so I did. He was in- in a room with markings all over, and he was- and he was talking- no, arguing with himself about pushing a button on the wall.”</p>
<p>The pink haired man listens in silence, his eyes down cast.</p>
<p>“And I asked him what he was doing, and he told me that it was- was never meant to be,” Phil slumps back in the chair, memory like a movie in his mind, “and pushed the button.”</p>
<p>“Right, Wilbur blew everythin’ up because he was,” Techno clears his throat, “a little haywire, if I’m bein’ honest. But why--” He looks up at Phil, “why did you kill him?”</p>
<p>A bitter taste sets into Phil's mouth, and he looks away, “I shielded him from the blast,” He reaches a hand back to his wings, some feathers still gritty and bent, “And he tossed me his sword, and asked me to kill him…” Phil trails off, and Techno doesn’t try to fill the silence, prompting him to continue, “I held the sword, I wasn’t going to do it, I would never.” Tears spring in his eyes and he has to whisper to keep his voice from shaking, “But then he took my wrist, and- and pulled it forward and-” His teeth clench, “-and ran himself through.”</p>
<p>Techno sits there for a moment, taking it in before he stands up and grabs something from the kitchen. Phil doesn’t bother to look up from his plate to see what he was doing. “It wasn’t your fault then,” Techno sets a glass of water in front of him, and he gratefully takes a sip.</p>
<p>“Maybe if I hadn’t been there,” Phil mumbles against the glass before setting it back down, “L’Manberg would still be blown up, but at least Wilbur would be alive.”</p>
<p>“Maybe if I had said something to Wilbur back in Pogtopia, called him out and talked some sense into him. I saw how he was,” Techno grimaces, “We could talk about the what-ifs all day, Phil, it wouldn’t change anythin’.”</p>
<p>“I know,” Phil shrugs.</p>
<p>They sit in silence at the table, the plates forgotten in front of them. Phil tries to clear his mind of yesterday, to push it all away until it’s a dull buzz in the back of his head. Of course it doesn’t work. Instead, memories of 11 year old Wilbur strumming on his guitar flash against Wilbur’s cold, pale face, creating a morbid contrast that makes his stomach twist. He takes another sip of water, his throat suddenly dry.</p>
<p>There’s a knock on the table and it draws Phil out of his sadistic reverie, making him pull his gaze to Techno. He has his glasses on, he realizes, and his hair cascades over his shoulders. “I think I’m going to go into retirement, Phil.”</p>
<p>A beat passes before he responds. “What?” The other man waves a hand, “I- I’m done with all of this. All the violence. I want to have some peace now, especially with what happened with Wilbur,” he idly pushes up his glasses, “I want to be away from everythin’.”</p>
<p>“I-” Phil isn’t quite sure what to say. A life free of violence? It was a difficult task for those in this family due to the mumblings of beings long past sitting in their head. For Techno especially, he seemed to have it worse than the rest and chose to embrace it. “I’m happy to hear that,” is what he settles on, “I wish you the best, Technoblade.” Because he always had, always wanted to see his son succeed in life, make it his own.</p>
<p>“I wanted to know if you would- you would join me,” Techno pauses, “I think it would be good for us to both get away.” “Join you?” “Yeah, I uh-- I’m goin’ to build a cabin where it's colder, a change of scenery, somewhere far away from here.”</p>
<p>Phil considers this, considers the simple life in the tundra with Techno. Finally he asks, “What about Tommy and Tubbo?”</p>
<p>Techno shrugs, “They have each other, they have their precious L’Manberg and all its people. We have each other, Phil.”</p>
<p>Tommy and Tubbo were very close, Phil knows. They had been through thick and thin, always there for each other. They had even earned the nickname “The Clingy Duo”. They could help one another through this tough time. Phil could comfort them while Techno was away building his cabin, he figures.</p>
<p>He gives his son a small smile, as it's all he can manage, “Okay, Techno. I’ll join you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Firstly I would like to say sorry to Mr. Philza Minecraft, creator of Minecraft</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Secondly, YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO i finally figured out what was wrong with the italics so im gonna edited the previous chapters.<br/>These are a lot slower than i originally thought they were going to be so this going to take a lot longer than I thought, that being said the next update might take longer than a week because im caught up on my back up chapters (if that makes sense)</p>
<p>Constructive criticisms are welcome!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Break Through</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Phil's first day alone brings more than he thought it would.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I hope you enjoy or cry :)</p><p> </p><p>Minor panic attack warning, it's at the end of the chapter.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h1>Break Through</h1><p> </p><p>Phil’s day drags on, or maybe it’s multiple days and it only feels like one tremendously long one. The routine he builds is the new framework of his life. He gets up, eats breakfast with Technoblade, tries to do chores around the base if he can move (he mainly spends that time staring into space, his brain zoning in and out of the present), eats dinner with Technoblade, and goes to bed (he also mostly spends that time staring into the darkness). Phil doesn’t count the days--it was kind of hard to in an underground base-- and instead counts the meals he spends with his son. So far they had shared 8 since he arrived.</p><p> </p><p>Techno had tried to get Phil to read some books to try to get his mind off things. He had shown Phil his bookshelf, crammed full and surrounded by books of varying widths and colors. He recognized the old book he had given Techno for his 12th birthday, the spine so worn you could barely make out the title: The Art of War. The image of young Techno, with his growing hair tied back, sitting on the porch of their house with his nose deep in the book had come to the forefront of his thoughts, making him smile.</p><p> </p><p>But Phil doesn’t read in his spare time. It’s not like he doesn’t want to--a distraction to a far away land sounded right up his alley-- but every time he picked up a book and opened to the first page his eyelids would immediately become heavy, each word like a dumbbell he had to lift. The effort doesn’t make him tired enough to fall into a merciful sleep, but just enough that he gives up trying to escape through literature.</p><p> </p><p>He thumbs over the cover of the worn book in his hands, once again he had tried to read only to give up. Phil pretends not to see the way Techno’s eyes look up at him from across the kitchen, something deep and sorrowful swirling in the golden brown. His son didn’t have a proper living room, seeing as he was not one for entertaining guests, so they spent most of their time in the kitchen.</p><p> </p><p>Finally, Technoblade pushes off from the counter he had been leaning on and clears his throat, “Phil.”</p><p> </p><p>Phil doesn’t react for a moment, he heard him, but it takes time for the call to process in his brain. He lifts his gaze to meet the other’s, “Yeah?” “I um, I was plannin’ on scoutin’ out an area for the retirement home--” he wrinkles his nose up at the words, and pauses to search for another-- “for the cottage today. The tundra is far away though-- which, I mean, is the point but,” he stops abruptly and sighs, “Will you be okay on your own or do you want to come with me?”</p><p> </p><p>Phil taps his fingers on the back of the book cover.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Hey, Techno, Wilbur, I’m goin’ out to town with Tommy. Do you boys want t’join us or will you be okay?” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“No thanks, I need to practice this one move I’m tryin’ to learn.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Yeah, and I wanna watch him. Maybe I can play guitar for you, Techno!” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Techno’s face scrunches, “No! You’re not any good yet, Wilbur, you’ll just hurt my ears.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Oh, I can hurt more than just your ea--” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Boys,” Phil has to restrain himself from laughing, but can’t hold back the grin, “a simple no would’ve been fine.” He goes and ruffles their hair, eliciting groans from the kids. “Okay, guys,” he says with a huff, “I’m off now, I’ll be ba--”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Phil?” A warm hand is on his shoulder, grounding him to the present. He slowly raises his head, in the span of time he had spent in the memory, Techno had crossed the room and was now looming over him with worry set in his features.</p><p> </p><p>“Ah, yeah, mate?”</p><p> </p><p>The hand doesn’t leave, “You okay?”</p><p> </p><p>He takes a deep breath and sweeps his eyes over the kitchen, refamiliarizing himself, “Yeah. Yeah, just...just remembering.”</p><p> </p><p>Techno’s shoulders tense and then sag, “About Wilbur?”</p><p> </p><p>“No-- well yes-- about both of you,” a faint smile graces his lips at the fondness of the moment, “I was goin’ to town, and I asked if you guys wanted to join me. You both said no and started bickerin’ about Wilbur wantin’ to play his guitar for you while you trained,” Phil can see Techno’s own small smile, “but you were all of 9 and he couldn’t play very well. Something you were not afraid of letting ‘im know of.”</p><p> </p><p>A light chuckle escapes Technoblade’s scarred lips, “Yeah, that sounds like me.”</p><p> </p><p>Not a second after Techno says that Phil’s fingers tighten around the book as a dark concoction of poisonous emotions stabs him in the chest, guilt, pain, sorrow, anger, and loss. He screws his eyes closed and furrows his brow. <em>If only he were still here,</em> a voice whispers, <em>you could be telling both of them about this memory. If only you didn’t go there, if only you had dropped the sword, if only you had pulled away</em>, their chants are quiet but powerful and as much as Phil wants to blame the voices clogging his head that belonged to others, he knows some of these are his own. That just makes them all the more painful. <em>If only Wilbur had never gone away, if only he never met Dream, if only he had never started a country, if only he had won the election.</em></p><p> </p><p>He forces himself to take a deep breath and open his eyes. His vision is blurry from how hard he had been keeping them close but he can make out that same worried expression on Techno. He isn’t standing over him anymore, though, and has settled onto the chair opposite him.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you sure you’re goin’ to be okay, Phil?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah. You can go out today, I’ll be fine,” he gives him a dismissive wave.</p><p> </p><p>Techno doesn’t seem too convinced by the answer and stands to make his way back over to Phil. He tenses as he’s wrapped in an awkward hug, neither of them all that familiar with comforting gestures. Slowly, he melts into the warmth and reaches up to hug Techno back.</p><p> </p><p>Here in the grounding warmth, the voices can’t hurt him as if Techno’s arms act as a barrier. They squirm in muted whispers-- a dull buzz deep in his consciousness-- but they’re not loud enough to distinguish one apart from the others.</p><p> </p><p>They separate after one final pat on the back with hopeful smiles dampened by grief decorating their faces. Phil’s gratitude goes unsaid but understood between them.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>-----</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The clock hanging on the wall tells Phil the sun is now sinking past the horizon. That doesn’t mean much when he can’t see it in person, Techno’s base was like a void where time didn’t exist.</p><p> </p><p>He shuffles down the corridor, now cleared of sugar cane, to what could be considered the foyer. The tiles dimly reflect the light and water still sits in the cracks from when Technoblade had left the place hours earlier. Phil had spent that time roaming throughout and laying on his bed, staring at the wall. Not very productive, but when his body felt like he could hardly move without strain, it was hard to get anything done.</p><p> </p><p>Now he’s experiencing a refreshing bout of restlessness, all the days’ worth combining into one. Phil hasn’t been outside since he first came here, and can see and feel the effects its having on his body. His skin has become more ghostly, the veins of his arms stark blue and the purple of the dark circles under his eyes are more prominent. He can’t recall when he was last this pale, his building work usually kept him busy in the sun, turning his skin a healthy tan. Not only that, but his body felt lethargic, Phil isn’t wholly sure if that’s the lack of sun or the lack of his son that is the reason for it.</p><p> </p><p>There’s a lever beside the doorway, he’d seen Techno pull it to open the hatch without getting drenched, so he pulls it. Water crashes down into the room after a low hum of metal and redstone work to lift the door. A few droplets splash onto his coat, darkening the fabric even more.</p><p> </p><p>The first thing that calls Phil’s attention is the pale, silvery light of the moon weaving between clouds of gray. It’s almost full and it watches over him as he hauls himself up into the lake, water still slowly spilling in. In this light he can see the way his wings reflect it, a shimmer across the feathers in the corner of his eye.</p><p> </p><p>Maybe a little flight is what he needs. To stretch the limbs and feel the wind on his face.</p><p> </p><p>Closing the hatch, he shifts his wings to prepare. When was the last time he had flown? Phil struggles to remember. Realistically he knows it hasn’t been that long. He had flown to get to the Dream SMP Proper and L’Manberg area, and while that seemed like a lifetime ago it was actually roughly a week.</p><p> </p><p>He bends his knees and, with a powerful push, launches himself into the air.</p><p> </p><p>The wind whistles in his ears and he can feel it on his face, rustling his wings, and tugging at his clothes. It’s cold and it makes his eyes water but at the same time it’s familiar and comforting. A low ache sets in his wings, like touching a fresh bruise. For the moment it grounds him to his body, keeping him aware. But soon the ache dissipates to the back of his mind.</p><p> </p><p>The sky is dark and relatively quiet around him, no birds, no shouting, nothing to detract from the peace. Nothing external, that is. Inside, there was nothing to stop the torrent of hushed voices. Some spoke of violence and blood, others of sorrow and despair, and some with ideas. Ideas that gnawed at Phil’s mind, twisting and turning and turning from <em>absolutely not</em> to <em>just maybe</em>. But Phil wanted to take this time for himself, when he had the strength to fight the whispers back down. He doesn’t know where exactly he’s flying, but in the distance he can see lights dotting the landscape and he knows he’s getting closer to what was L’Manberg. Doubt and remembrance strike through his heart, but his course was set and he flapped his wings to keep from falling short of his now-determined destination.</p><p> </p><p>In the distance he can make out that the lake is now half way empty, its contents spread across the debris making it murky and dark. Phil swoops down beside it, feeling the shock of the earth run up his legs to his shoulders.</p><p> </p><p>Distantly he can hear the ringing, the shouts and cries even though he’s alone. It’s eerie, a place once so full of life and passion now seemingly abandoned and in ruin. It makes Phil quiet his breathing, not wanting to break the solemn silence. Barely anything is left, miraculously the podium is still standing, carrying memories Phil doesn’t have. Phil walks along the path leading to the stand, concrete crumbling and carpet tattered and scorched.</p><p> </p><p>A breeze passes through, ruffling his clothes and hair, bringing with it whispers and songs that fill his thoughts.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Wilbur made this. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Wilbur destroyed this. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>This destroyed Wilbur.</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Phil turns his gaze to the fountain in the middle of the lake, the gold base sparkling under the moon.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> You killed Wilbur. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>How could you kill him? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>He killed himself. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>What would’ve happened if you never came?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Wilbur would be alive. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Wilbur would have jumped into the pit.</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Phil’s eyes flick down to the depths and his stomach twists.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Life. Death. War. Peace.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> You know about these. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>You could write books about them. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>You’ve faced them. Overcome them. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Angel of Death, Angel of Death, Angel of Death. </em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The voices chant in his mind, but Phil feels oddly numb. He furrows his brows, why did he feel numb? He closes his eyes, it feels numb on the surface he realizes. Beneath is a rolling pit of aching sorrow and anger, pushed down and bottled away. The gravity of the earth seems to be pulling him down to his knees, the voices so loud and piercing he covers his ears in an attempt to hide.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Angel of Death to your own son! One whispers gleefully in his ear. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Poor child was mad. Another is mumbling, thoughtful and glum. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>He took after you, had that streak of chaotic blood lust. You must be proud. A snide comment from incorporeal, twisted lips.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>A primal instinct is worming its way through his limbs, yelling at him to run and hide, to curl up and rock himself into a calming sleep. Phil doesn’t notice that he’s gasping for breath, clamping down and biting his tongue so hard blood is dripping from his mouth to keep from crying out. One voice, one Pandora’s box of a voice, calls out sweetly through the rest. It’s piercing in tone and message.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>You can bring him back, Phil. You are the Angel of Death, you have cheated it before. You can bring your son back to you.</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Phil’s eyes snap open. He can bring Wilbur back. He wipes away the warm liquid of tears and blood from his face and takes off into the night, a single thought driving him forward.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>OOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHH BOY im sorry i meant to post this sooner but i havent had power for the past few days...</p><p>also sorry if this isnt the best chapter, pretty sure its not beta read and im not all that proud of it? but i also havent updated in like 2 weeks</p><p>wow guys this is like...the first chapter that's not dialogue heavy and it feels weird. like...i felt like i had to focus on scenery (which i prolly should describe more anyway lets be honest) n stuff. I mean i put the voices as dialogue so i guess you could its dialogue heavy anyway...also hey HEY did any of you notice a little pun that i sneaked in? i swear this a very serious angsty fic it just has a pun in the title and the author takes delight in putting in puns. a serious, punny fic :))</p><p> </p><p>Edit: Thank you guys sosossososos much for over 100 kudos!!</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>First off, I'm so sorry. :)) There's going to be a lot of angst with little comfort so strap in for a fun ride!</p>
<p>Next chapter actually won't have Phil in it, instead gonna focus on the others for a hot sec</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Cizza is my co author and is helping me with this!! She also plans to post her own work about the stages of grief for the other characters!!</p>
<p> </p>
<p>This is the first work Im posting on here so I may be a little clumsy with some things (aka the HTML)<br/>Im very upset that the italics only effected one (1) word and that was "what?" literally one of the worst words it could have chosen.<br/> </p>
<p>Constructive criticisms are welcome!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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